Sunday at the ballet

My in-laws are the hardest people to buy gifts for. They have everything. Literally. Maybe even two. So last year for Christmas we came to the same point on the list we come to every year.
"What are we going to get your parents?"
"I don't know."
It's a good thing he's cute because that's not helpful AT ALL.

As we discussed what they like, the thing we kept coming back to was Brynna. She is their only grandchild, and we lived on the other side of the country for most of her life up to this point. So we decided to give the gift of time with her. We started looking for things we could all do together. David found info that the Houston Ballet was doing a production of Aladdin. Uh...dancing and a princess? Brynna is hooked. If she's happy, Pops and Honey K are happy. Done and done.
The man gets stuff done! All is forgiven.

So a few weeks ago we all 5 went to the ballet. A few days before "the big day" I took Brynna to the mall and let her get a new "fancy" dress (her favorite kind). This was a multi-faceted move. Allow me to explain:
1) Fancy dress means you can't do cartwheels
2) To wear a fancy dress, you must be on your best behavior
3) Being allowed to wear said fancy dress is an EXCELLENT bargaining tool if consequences are needed for compliance
4) Fancy dress means I shouldn't see your panties. Ever. (I know we covered cartwheels, but thoroughness is necessary)

I'll spare you the details of how many dresses we had to try on to find "just the right one" but I will tell you how to go about finding the right one (in the event you are in need of a fancy dress in the near future).
Step 1: Try on a dress.
Step 2: Twirl.
Step 3: Repeat as many times as necessary until maximum twirling height is attained.

The day of the ballet, she twirled to the car, twirled in to church and twirled back out. She twirled at the restaurant and twirled for a man in the elevator of the theatre parking garage. But when the curtain went up, the twirling ceased and my little person who can't sit still the length of a Berenstain Bears book sat enthralled. For two and a half hours, she watched some of the most intricate choreography and story-telling I've ever seen. At the end of the day she even got to meet some of the dancers.

I know what you're thinking. You're remembering that I started this post about a gift for my in-laws and you're right. That was the intent. But as they do, kids have a way of turning anything into more of an event than you planned. We went to spend the afternoon together. We went to see a performance by phenomenal dancers of award-winning choreography. We got that but what we will all remember is the way Brynna's face lit up every time she twirled. We still talk about how she danced and curtsied through each intermission and had dance teachers applauding her in the hall. We remember how she sat so still and took in story elements I assumed were over her head. We laugh at how Brynna stole the show from some of the greatest talent we've ever seen.

 

Confessions

I don't want to watch Barbie. Like, ever. Like, you know?

It's easier to go along with Brynna's belief that she is "the real Elsa" than it is to explain that Frozen is a movie, and animated and even Elsa is not "the real" Elsa.

I'm seriously considering leaving all the laundry that needs to be folded because my mom's coming this evening, and moms like laundry, right? Wait...I'm a mom...that logic might be faulty.

Most annoying thing about yesterday (and the day before that and the day before that):
"Mommy. Mommy? Mommy. Mommy... Mommy... Mommy?"

I drank 3 Dr. Peppers yesterday. Even I know that's not okay. And when the dentist asks today I already plan, hours in advance, to lie straight through my sugar-coated teeth.

I don't want to wait 2 hours to finish the last half of Criminal Minds.

But I will. I will wait because it's not something Brynna needs to see, even in passing. It's not the language she needs to hear or the pictures she needs in her mind. Because what she needs is more important than what's convenient or comfortable.

And that's why I'll answer every time I hear "Mommy. Mommy? Mommy..."

And why I'll watch another Barbie movie. Like, maybe today.

Dear Brynna,

I remember the day you were born like it was yesterday. I remember I woke up and knew that you were coming that day. I didn't feel any different, but I knew in my heart it would be the day I got to see your face. I got ready that morning knowing we would go to the hospital at some point. I had our bags packed and my hair done and our cute going-home clothes all ready. But this would be my first lesson in many that no matter how prepared you are as a mom, you aren't prepared for everything.

I remember the contractions started at the mall. We all thought that was funny because we love the mall. They weren't strong at first, so of course, I kept shopping. I remember Papa needed new shoes and while he tried them on, Yaya noted times on a pad of paper. I remember when they started getting stronger. I remember when Daddy got home and was so excited to leave for the hospital, but Yaya said it wasn't time. Daddy asked Yaya to see her medical degree and she pointed to me. She didn't need a medical degree. She's a mom. Moms know stuff. I remember how the contractions hurt worse when I laughed but I couldn't stop.

I remember driving to the hospital. I remember when the nurse said it could be awhile and Daddy told her we weren't going anywhere. He's been protecting us long before you were born. I remember when the pain was really bad. I remember when it was even worse. I remember when they said it wouldn't be long. I couldn't wait to hold you.

I remember their faces when they said you couldn't breathe, so I breathed extra air for both of us. I remember when they said my heart rate was dropping and the doctor gave me medicine. I remember Daddy's face being scared but all I could think about was you. My heart knew even then I would always take care of you before me.  I remember how many people were suddenly in the room. I remember talking and pushing and pulling and serious faces.

And then I remember silence. I remember wanting to hear you cry but not hearing anything. I remember seeing you across the room. I remember how you were purple and blue, and I just wanted you to be pink and wrapped up in my arms. I remember telling Daddy to go with you. I remember how torn he was to have to leave one of us. I remember how empty it felt without you. I remember laying face down and praying for God to do for you what I couldn't.

I remember visiting you in the NICU. I remember really bad times and really good ones. I remember watching Daddy hold you and just stare. I remember you looking back at him, memorizing parts of his face. I remember walking away from the hospital without you. I remember sitting in your room at home, praying for you to fight like the strong person we know you are. And you did.

I remember pieces of every day since that day. I remember days when I wish I'd been a better mom and days when I felt like we were getting this right, you and me. I remember you crawling backwards first and getting stuck in corners. I remember the day you slept on your bear on the floor next to TayTay as she painted you a picture. I remember Daddy sneaking in to your room to let you sleep on his chest.

Five years later...
Daddy still sneaks in to let you sleep on his chest. I'm still willing to give you all my air and heartbeats. I can't describe the ways God has changed me by letting me be your mom. I can't explain how proud I am of your love for people, your energy and your confidence. I'm grateful I remember that day. It makes me all the more grateful for this day.

Happy 5th Birthday, Brynna Grace!

I love you from the east to the west...

Rain, Rain, Go...Oh Forget It

I am a planner. I'm very logistical. You know that mom who always seem to be calm? She stands on the playground watching her 18-month old roll in the sandbox and smiles at how cute he is. (Meanwhile I'm about to hyperventilate calculating how long it's going to take her to get sand out of her car, the clothes and anything else he breathes near.) You know her. Maybe you are her.

I'm not that mom.

That doesn't mean I'm not up for being carefree and fun. I love that, too. That's why I call myself an "organized free-spirit." Both of those things usually operate side-by-side in harmony in my head. Keyword: usually. Usually I am one or the other. Usually I am working OR playing. I am writing OR dominating at Candy Land. I am in impromptu mode OR strategic mode. Usually I switch pretty seamlessly from one to the other.

But then it rains.
And all hell breaks lose.

So let me go back...
Brynna went to her grandparents' house for spring break last week, and I was in Dallas Monday-Thursday working on some writing projects. When I returned, I spent all day Friday cramming a weeks' worth of "stuff" into 8 hours. You know...birthday stuff. Party favors, cookies, food, where will things go, what all the kids will do. Stuff. This would have been a walk in the park if it had been any other year. Every other year Brynna's birthday has been inside - at home or a gymnastics gym. This year, though, I had to get tricky and have a bounce house. Outside.

While doing all that running Friday, I checked the weather app on my phone approximately 1,796 times. And do you know what that app had the nerve to tell me? Rain. Every time I checked.

When it started sprinkling Saturday morning, David assured me the showers were isolated and this was probably the end. (God bless him for trying. I'm sure he could see the panic visibly manifesting on my face.) A mom called to see if we were still planning on the party, and I calmly joked and said, "the bounce house is here. It may just be a water slide!" We laughed, ha ha! and she hung up. (All an act. I should win an Academy Award. Cue me silently freaking out in my head.)

When the rain started about 10 minutes before party time, my mom and Janay went in to "control the crazy" mode. (The crazy being me. Praise God for family who know you best and love you still.) My mom said it was no biggie, we would just bring the food in to the kitchen. Janay said there was plenty we could do with the kids inside, so I gathered up a stack of puzzles. As people started arriving, Janay took umbrellas while I greeted people. A couple of boys arrived first, so they went out to play hockey with Brynna and her dad in the garage. As more people arrived, they headed to the garage, too. I thought it had to be getting crowded and wondered what they could all be doing out there.

I walked outside to find a garage full of adults laughing at a bounce house full of soaking wet kids. Did you know that water pools at the end of a bounce house slide? Did you know if you slide down into the puddle, you make a "really cool splash"? Me neither. But I do now.

Those kids jumped for hours. And those parents were the sweetest things ever. After a couple of hours and lots of sugar, they carried their little soaked people to the car, smiling as the kids talked about how fun the water slide was. Not one of them complained. Even the family headed to another party simply asked where the nearest kids' store was to go buy a change of clothes for their deliriously happy 4 year old.

The rain was not my plan. At all. I would much rather report that it was a fun, sunny day and I took lots of pictures of happy faces. Instead, I spent the day laughing with parents about how much fun the kids were having playing in the rain. I dried off little feet and cheered for the on-going hockey game in the back half of the garage. In what has become Brynna's tradition, I handed out cookies and watched them all blow out their candles. (She loves to blow out candles, so in her mind, it stands to reason her friends do to. Makes perfect sense to me.)

The rain wasn't my plan. I didn't have time to mentally prepare myself for "impromptu" mode but I guess that's kind of the point. (literally...that's the definition of impromptu)

I only have 3 pictures from Brynna's 5th birthday party. But I have memories that can't be replaced. And I had the happiest little girl on the block as she bounced and played with her friends in the rain. And while I still don't like being outside in the rain, I'll never forget the day I said "oh, forget it."

The only thing more fun than bouncing in the rain is frosting on your face!

The Secret to Motherhood Extra Credit

Did you ever do extra credit in school? Bonus questions were my favorite. They were like an insurance policy for Geometry. (Math. Ugh. Anything with numbers and I don't get along well.) I can't say the bonus questions got me an A. But I can say that the extra credit pushed me juuuust over that passing C. (In my good-girl defense, that was my only C in high school. Math. Ugh.)

Did you know there's extra credit in the mom world, too? I bet you didn't. This extra credit is a little different than in school. In Geometry, there was an assignment and then there were a few bonus questions. If I messed up on the real questions, the extra credit was there to help make up a little bit of the deficit. In Geometry, after the teacher graded, the bonus questions could only help if you answered them. Correctly. (Did I mention? Math. Ugh.) In the wide world of Mom the difference is that the bonus points only count if you acknowledge them. Not the teacher. Not your neighbor. Not your mom or sister. Not the lady looking at you crazy at the grocery store. You.

You do the assignment every day. You wake them up, you feed them, you make sure they are breathing and clothed. You drive them here, there and everywhere. You provide a roof over their heads. You feed them again, you play with them, you bathe them. And then...you do the whole thing again the next day! And the next... It's easy to get overwhelmed by the real assignment (you know...sustaining the life of another human), let alone think about extra credit (playing Barbies. Again. Ugh.).

But, mom, I have good news. You already did the bonus questions! You just have to take credit for them. Ok, so you got #3 wrong when you yelled about the sand all over the kitchen floor. But you later admitted mommy shouldn't have yelled, which takes way more guts than anyone who ever competed on American Gladiators. You may have messed up on #6 when you played on your phone instead of listening to her story about the kid on the playground. You also read her a book before bed. You didn't show your work on #10 when you got her to school but didn't tell anyone that it was a fight to the death to get those sneakers on her when she was dead-set on the princess shoes. But she's wearing them. And no one died.

Being a mom is hard. And being real means admitting that sometimes it isn't fun or easy. Every single day, we could improve on our grade. There has yet to be a day when I didn't wish for a redo on something I said or did. I've yet to go to bed without at least one "man that was dumb!" thought in my head. But being real also means acknowledging that you were pretty great at times. You listened when you really wanted to get your work done. You didn't lose your whole mind when she colored pink marker on your brand new lightly-colored rug (true story). You let her get in and out of the car unassisted although it took for-ev-er. You tickled and hugged. You held and laughed.

You weren't perfect but you made it through the day. You didn't get it right 100% of the time, but you love that little person like no one else can. You're a real mom. And for that, you deserve extra credit. But it only counts if you let yourself accept it.

Give yourself a little extra credit. No matter how small, what did you do right yesterday?

Beautiful Ashes

Did you walk into work yesterday and see a coworker with a smudge on her forehead you wanted desperately to wipe off but didn't seem to bother her?
Did you come back to find your boss, seated at his desk with a cross on his forehead that wasn't there before he left for lunch?

If you answered yes or had a similar experience, allow me to explain. Your coworkers have not lost it. They didn't join a cult on their way to work. Yesterday was Ash Wednesday. As I explained the other day, Christians celebrate the season before Easter with a practice of fasting called Lent. Ash Wednesday is the first day of Lent. As a way to focus on why they are fasting, Catholics (and some other denominations as well) hold services throughout the day. As a part of the service, ashes are placed on the forehead in the shape of a cross. In the Bible, ashes are used as a sign of mourning. On Ash Wednesday, the ashes symbolize the mourning of where we went wrong and our repentance and desire to be better examples of Christ's love.

So here's my question for those of us without ashes on our heads...
Could you do it?
If you walked into the office would people be shocked to learn you even know where a church is?
Would you be a hypocrite with a symbol of God for all to see at a football game? in traffic? with your family? on the golf course?

And here's my question for those with...
Did you leave it there all day?
Did you try to cover it up or downplay its significance?
Did you act any differently with that mark than you do at other times?

Here's my reason for asking:
There's a Catholic church on the corner on the way to Brynna's school. I passed that corner 4 times yesterday and each time there were droves of people coming out after the ending of a mass. Each person had an ashen cross on their heads. Each was heading back to his/her respective life. And I couldn't help but wonder what the rest of the day would be like for them. I couldn't help but think about the rest of my day and what it would be like if everywhere I went people immediately knew what I believe.

Because that's supposed to be every day.
But is it?

Did you receive ashes yesterday? Did it change anything about the way you spoke or acted?
If you were marked with a symbol of your beliefs would your walk match your talk?

Those ashes have the ability to be an ugly display to the world that we say one thing but do another. Or they can be a beautiful representation of a heart that's not perfect, never will be but loves people like Jesus does.

I hope they weren't just dark smudges.
I hope they changed someone.

And more than anything, I hope that when Jesus looks at me, He sees  - not on my head but in my heart - beautiful ashes.

Harder Than It Should Be

This is kind of stupid. And pathetic. Have you ever found yourself somewhere and wondered how you got there? Have you looked around and thought "this is the exact place I never wanted to be"? I'm there and the walls of this room I find myself in are plastered with logos...

And the logos are all lit up in neon. Like Vegas. It's loud and overcrowded and I'm glaringly aware that I don't know most of these people. Of those I do know, I like maybe half of them. Of that half, few have my actual phone number and like 6 have been to my house. I feel like I'm standing in the corner, with my hands over my ears wondering what on earth all these people have to talk about at the same time. And why, for the love of all that's holy, are they yelling?!

I just want to make the bad man stop.

So, the question is obvious: why not leave? Believe me. I've asked myself that a hundred times. And in my defense, I started this with my acknowledgment that it's pathetic. I sit in that loud, annoying room, wishing I wasn't there because They told me I'm supposed to. They said it's the best way to stay connected to people. They said if I don't, I'll miss out because this is the way the world works in today's culture. They told me that I'll lose touch. They told me that if I don't yell louder, no one will hear me.

But I don't feel heard. I feel lost in noise. I don't feel informed. I feel like 17 people are screaming completely opposing opinions. I don't even feel connected. I feel competitive.

So it's all of that chatter in my head that's led me to realize that while I could give up my beloved Dr. Pepper for Lent...

[[pause]]
Lent is the season before Easter when many Christians give up something meaningful as a form of self-discipline. We emulate Jesus's example (He fasted in the desert 40 days) and focus on how special it is that He not only died but overcame death and rose again. The day we celebrate He rose is Easter. Easter is 40 days from now. That means today I decide what I'm going to go without for the next 40 days...
[[resume]]

... or I could not eat meat or fast from another food item, while I could go without a lot of things, the thing hardest to let go of is this. To walk out of this room that I don't even fully enjoy. And to be completely honest, this is way harder than it should be. I'm embarrassed that I had to remove the apps from my phone to keep me from checking them out of habit or lack of self-control.

Normally when I fast during Lent, I know that each time I think of _______ (whatever I gave up), I am reminded of Jesus, His sacrifice and what Easter means. The more integral to my daily life, the more often that happens. This year, though, we haven't even officially started and I'm realizing that I won't just be reminded of Jesus but I might be able to hear Him better. Stepping out of the noise of this room means He's not fighting for my attention. And really...He created the Universe. Should He have to compete with a youTube video of bad lip reading NFL clips? No. He shouldn't. (Although the lip reading is HI-LARIOUS)

So, here I go. This is way harder than it should be, but I'm leaving the room. I'll write, so I hope you check in with me here. And if you do, leave a comment or share what moves you...because I won't be on social media to share it myself! lol

Start now and let me know what you are giving up for Lent...or if social media feels like a keg party gone wrong to you, too...or if you've seen the NFL lip reading video. (seriously. it's so freaking funny)